


the blizzard of the world (crossed the threshold)

by allapplesfall



Series: night comes on [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Nightmares, Protective Sara Lance, and i'll never forgive these shows for straight up pretending she never existed, homophobic violence, sin is sara's SISTER
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24329398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allapplesfall/pseuds/allapplesfall
Summary: Sara dreams of a mad doctor's breath panting down her neck.
Relationships: Sara Lance & Sin (Arrow)
Series: night comes on [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742128
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	the blizzard of the world (crossed the threshold)

**Author's Note:**

> serious tw for this one guys: heavily implied/referenced rape, referenced homophobic violence (against sin), graphic depictions of sara beating ivo to a pulp
> 
> title from the future by leonard cohen

“Fuck,” says Sin, flopping down on the concrete floor of the clocktower. A new bruise blooms over her right eye, swelling it shut, and a line of brown, flaky dried blood runs from a nasty looking scratch on her arm.

“What happened?” Canary asks. Fierce protectiveness surges into her throat like acid and she straightens from where she was cleaning her blades. “Who did it?”

Sin waves her hand. Her words carry a practiced indifference. “Some fucks down on Harrison. One of ‘em was like, ‘hey, you lookin’ at my girl?’ and then what always happens happened. Don’t worry, it’ll heal up soon.”

Canary gets to her feet. “What’d they look like?”

“Hey,” says Sin. “Don’t, they’re not worth it.”

“Sin, they—”

“I know,” says Sin. Her lip wobbles, just slightly, and her carefully cool façade cracks. “But…can you stay? With me? I–” She swallows. “I don’t really wanna be alone right now.”

“Oh,” says Canary, dumbly. She sets down her batons and sits back at Sin’s side. “Yeah. Sure.”

Sin leans into her shoulder, her head resting in the crook of Canary’s neck. She closes her eyes. Canary rubs her hand up and down her back, up and down.

“You don’t deserve this,” she says, quietly but fiercely. “Not ever. You’re so good, Sin. Tell me you know that.”

Sin bites her lip.

“Sin.”

“I didn’t deserve it,” Sin says, nostrils flaring, and a tear slips out of her eye and drips onto Canary’s bare shoulder. She shudders. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” says Canary. She presses a kiss to the top of Sin’s head.

They sit, for a long minute. Sin struggles to even out her breathing.

Eventually, Canary sighs. “It’s late. Should we patch you up and go to bed?”

“You sleep?” Sin asks, opening her eyes.

“Ha ha.” Getting to her feet, Canary walks over to the corner where she keeps her medical supplies. “You’re a riot.”

Sin leans back on her hands. “Well, I’ve never seen it.”

“I’ll watch over you. Make sure you’re safe.”

“So you _don’t_ sleep?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Canary shoots Sin a grin over her shoulder and for a second—

Well, for a second, she feels _young_.

Sin sticks out her tongue, which seals the deal.

Crossing back over to her, Sara—Taer— _Canary_ —hands her a cold compress for her eye and cleans out the scratch on her arm. “You’re gonna look hard with that shiner, you know.”

“You saying I don’t look hard normally?”

“Baby face.”

“Fuck you.”

Canary gets out the bandages. “You’re a bit young for me.”

Sin raises her good hand to hit her lightly on the shoulder. Canary lets her.

After she finishes wrapping the arm, she cocks her head.

“They get you anywhere else?”

Reluctantly, Sin peels off her ripped jeans, revealing knees bloodied by concrete. Canary cleans them, too. Afterwards, she leads her over to the mattress in the corner.

“C’mon, baby face,” she says. “Into bed.”

Sin, whose head has started drooping, rolls her eyes. “I’m not a toddler.”

“Then don’t throw a tantrum. Get into bed.”

Sin unhooks her bra and pulls it out from the bottom of her shirt. Climbing in, she pulls the covers up to her chest.

Canary crouches down at her side. She runs her thumb over Sin’s forehead.

Sin looks up at her. “Are you really gonna stay up?”

“No one’s gonna hurt you.”

Sin narrows her eyes. “I don’t think they are. Not here. So….” She pauses. “Wanna get in?”

“What?”

“Not in a weird way, just… Look, don’t make me ask again. Or are you too chicken to go to sleep?”

Canary hesitates.

Sin lifts the blanket. “C’mon, old fart,” she says.

-

“I ran the tests on prisoner seventeen’s blood,” Sara reports. She hovers in the doorway, making eye contact with Ivo because he hates it when she doesn’t. “No change.”

“Nothing?” Ivo asks, calm. He steeples his fingers on the table.

She shakes her head. “All counts normal.”

“Did you give him the injections like I asked?”

“Yes,” she says quietly.

“What?”

“I did,” says Sara, louder.

“Oh,” says Ivo reasonably. “That’s alright then. Next week, maybe.”

Sara nods.

“And the other two?”

“No change.”

 _Bang_. Ivo slams his hand down on the table, sending pens skittering to the floor. “ _Then you did it wrong!”_ he yells. “How many times am I going to have to drill it into your imbecilic little mind—” He lifts up a paperweight and flings it at the wall next to her.

Without meaning to, she flinches as it crashes.

He sees. Suddenly, his mask of anger disappears. His eyes gentle. “Come here,” he says softly.

Every neuron in her mind screaming in protest, Sara walks over to his side.

He reaches up and traces a large hand over her face. “I forgive you,” he says. “I forget how little experience you have. Next time will be better, won’t it?”

She nods.

He smiles. “Good girl. I’m getting tired. Are you ready to go to bed?”

Biting her tongue, she nods again. But as he leads her to their bed— _his_ bed—she takes action.

She punches him, hard. Hard enough for his to head snap back, blood spilling down over his mouth and onto his white shirt. She hits him again, one of his teeth clattering to the floor. The deck rolls, the ship caught by a swell, and her knife slides to her across the floor. She picks it up with one hand. With the other, she catches his arm and slams it down on his desk. Swinging the knife down with a sharp and accurate precision, she slices off all of his fingers—every single one which has ever touched her, caressed her, violated her. They fall to the floor like soft marbles, the nails tapping as they hit the wood. Raising the knife again, this time she sinks it into his chest, over and over again, thudding, cracking, stabbing his heart and breaking his ribs, until his eyes freeze into glass and his warm, slick blood coats her hands in scarlet gloves. Then she carries him, one of his feet under each of her armpits, up the ladder aboveboard. Dragging him across the deck leaves a streak of red over the wood. With a single heave, she tosses him up and over the side.

His body bobs, for a moment, caught like hers was in the moment before she grabbed onto the wooden board that saved her life. But no board appears beside him. Waves suck him under, and she never has to see his face again.

Suddenly, though, she can _only_ see his face. Having guided her into the bed, he straddles her, his breath coming down in reeking pants onto her cheek. He unbuckles his slacks in a practiced movement, and though she fights—she’s _not_ this scared little girl anymore, she’s not, she’s _not_ —he holds her down easily. He smiles, a bittersweet, exasperated smile. She wants nothing more than to scream but an invisible gag fills her mouth.

“You thought you could get rid of me?” he asks, as warmly amused as a kindergarten teacher talking to a naughty child. “We haven’t finished yet, Sara. I saved you. I protect you every single day, don’t I? From the crew?”

She shakes her head—thrashes, like she never does. She always nods.

“Then do you think you could do me just a little favor? You’re the only relief left for me on this ship.”

And then he yanks the button open on her black jeans, eyes hardening into something far crueler than anything she’s seen in the eyes of the sailors.

She opens her mouth to scream again, but then—

-

“Wake up!”

Sara jerks awake, hand finding the knife she keeps tucked against her thigh. She swings it up in front of her, eyes darting from side-to-side, trembling fingers tense around the weapon. Cold sweat covers her from head to toe. Shivers wrack her body.

“Whoa.” Wide eyes meet hers, large and terrified. “It–It’s me. Sin?”

 _Sin_.

Sara lowers the blade, breathing hard. She opens her mouth, trying and failing to speak—she settles for sitting up, scanning the dark room, seeking out concrete corners and almost daring the shadows to creep out in man-form to meet her. She tries to wring the lingering touches of fingers on her skin from her mind.

“Hey,” Sin says. “Where are you? Come back.”

She forces herself to look back into Sin’s face. Blue and purple, seeping into a sickly yellow at the edges, swells across one of her eyes, while new reddish bruises pool along her jawline.

A man’s hand made those. A man’s fist bashed into Sin’s cheek and forced her down to her knees so hard he broke skin. He accosted her in an alley and beat her for being young and gay and unable to defend herself. Did he start off with a kind smile? Feign polite interest to get close? Ivo’s smile probably turned to a smirk as rage burned his etiquette until it stank like tar, taking Sin in his hands and forcing her down and—

Small, cool hands lift her arms, forcing her to rest her hands on the top of her head. “Breathe,” a voice instructs. “ _Breathe_ , holy shit, please breathe.”

With her hands in their new position, Sara uncurls her back, shifting from the hunched position she can’t remember taking to a more upright one. She chokes for breath and finds that air flows far more easily into her lungs. She inhales again, holds it for the count of five, then exhales. She repeats over and over until her the dark blue specks marring her vision clear.

Ivo didn’t attack Sin. Some random assholes did.

Ivo can’t hurt anyone, not ever again.

Ivo died.

Fuck.

Canary suddenly can’t stand being trapped by the sweaty sheets, the victim-girl who’d invaded her mind. She strips the blankets from her legs and pushes herself up until she stands unsteadily on the mattress. She steps to the floor and pauses, staring up at the clocktower windows, until she can stomach facing Sin again. Finally, she turns.

“You okay?” Sin asks. She sits at the edge of the mess of bedding, fists held behind her so she can lean back on them and look up with wide eyes. “You’re scaring me.”

Canary inhales sharply. She blinks. “Yeah,” she says, voice like steel grating along stone. “I….” She shakes her head. “Don’t worry. I didn’t hurt you?”

Sin shakes her head.

“Good. I’m…I’m gonna go for a walk, okay? Clear my head.”

“A walk? After….”

“I’ll be back by morning.”

Sin rubs a hand over her head, through the tufts of bedhead that stick up at all angles. “Okay.”

Canary nods. Fast enough to avoid further conversation, she pulls on the rest of her uniform, grabs her weapons, and unearths a towel. As she heads out onto the dark streets of Starling, she plans to do two things—

First, find a shower and scrub herself until she burns pink.

Second, hunt down the men who hurt Sin and make them _bleed_.


End file.
